


I Never Did Anything Out of the Blue

by oxymoronic



Series: TSN kinkmeme prompts [2]
Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn, Public Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoronic/pseuds/oxymoronic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Normal sex is certainly not arranged by Facebook invitation. He’s sure Eduardo gets great pleasure out of the irony in that somewhere, but all he can figure is the joke’s on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Did Anything Out of the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my LJ [here](http://oxymoronic.livejournal.com/93961.html#cutid2).
> 
> For [this]() prompt: "After hours, Eduardo fucks Mark against the glass window of his office, whispering hot dirty nothings into his ear."
> 
> **Quick disclaimer:** all persons referenced below are intended to represent the characters in The Social Network (which I don't own anyway) and bear no relevance to those in real life who share the same names.

He’s not forgiven. He knows that, even as Eduardo’s fingers curl around his wrists so delicately, and he trails little kisses across his clothed back, shoulder to shoulder, breath teasing at the base of his neck.

Mark looks into the glass. It’s dark outside, but not dark enough; the light spills across the window oddly, sometimes a perfect reflection of their faces, sometimes nothing more than the panorama Mark intended it to be. Floor-to-ceiling windows and inspirational skylines are all the rage, nowadays. “Stay still,” Eduardo hisses in his ear, and it’s like the command bypasses his brain entirely, sinks straight into his muscles; he doesn’t even think of disobeying, just freezes up against the glass. His wrists are released, and he can’t stop himself whimpering as he hears the click of Eduardo’s buckle behind him. His own clothes are unmoved, save for where his t-shirt and hoodie have ridden up, caused by the slight jolts of Eduardo’s hips minutes before.

Eduardo’s fingers are cold when they return to his back, but he lets a little sigh loose, grateful for the contact. He’s been getting hard – well, maybe not all day, but for more of it than he cares to remember. He knows they don’t have _normal_ sex; normal sex is spontaneous, emotional, and they have sex by appointment.

Normal sex is certainly not arranged by Facebook invitation. He’s sure Eduardo gets great pleasure out of the irony in that somewhere, but all he can figure is the joke’s on him.

Eduardo starts to talk, and Mark tunes out everything except the noise. Talking dirty is Eduardo’s kink, not his, and although he’s happy to oblige, it doesn’t mean he has to play along. Eduardo knows this. They have an unspoken agreement. In Mark’s opinion, far too much keeps going on unsaid.

He’s being more vicious than usual tonight; he’s using his nails to score little tic-tac-toe boards across the base of his spine. With each drag of his finger he works Mark’s pants down further, and Mark bucks his hips so far they smack the window, his whole body tingling with anticipation. He wishes he initiated these stupid meetings; it’s been far too fucking long.

“Thought you’d like that,” Eduardo breathes. “It hurts, don’t it? You can _feel_ that.” Mark can hear the quiver in his voice, and feel the hand digging around the pockets of his slacks for lube; his shoulders slump in relief. His arms are already going numb from being held above his head, and his whole body screams for proper, satiated sleep, but he knows it won’t be much longer now. Eduardo has taken it slow a couple times, held his forefinger and thumb around the base of Mark’s cock, stopped him coming for minutes which felt like days, months, years – but it’s not one of those nights. Mark can tell. He reads Eduardo with greater perspicacity than Eduardo would like, if he knew.

Mark sighs with relief as Eduardo works his pants down over his hips, and lets them drop around his knees. “Spread ‘em”, Eduardo mutters, but Mark’s already on it, wiggling his feet apart across the thick-pile carpet; this is met by some of the choicer words in Eduardo’s dirty vocabulary, which Mark chooses to ignore. Eduardo pushes two fingers inside, and Mark lets out a hysterical moan on a wheeze of breath; too long, it’s been too long, and by karma or fate or some sort of psychic power Eduardo mumbles “fuck, it’s been too long,” even as he thinks it. It’s almost enough to make Mark laugh.

He’s pathologically precise with his preparation, crooking his fingers, rocking his wrist in confident motions at such a reckless pace Mark’s nearly swallowing his own tongue as he tries to get his breath back. He stares himself down in the glass, doesn’t allow himself to come from fingers alone as he knows he can. Eduardo’s spare hand is drawing teasing circles just above his crotch, daring him to come, daring him to lose again.

He’s up to three fingers by the time he gives up, but Mark still knows it’s going to sting, and wishes for a window frame, something other than his own flesh to wrap his fingers around as he hears the tell-tale tear of a condom packet from behind him. He’s not ready, and it hurts too much to be good when Eduardo pushes inside, but he can’t bring himself to admonish him; he might stop. He might leave. He focuses on the pinpricks of pain in his fingernails, the pulse of Eduardo’s heart against his backbone, the feeling of intimacy wriggling between them that he knows neither of them can afford. For a handful of heartbeats, the feeling remains, as Eduardo drops little kisses along his sweaty neck, and Mark feels the imprint of his fingers in his hips as he forces himself to let Mark get used to the pain.

He starts slow, like he always does; Eduardo’s more predictable than he’d like. Little half-shimmies of his hips, pushing and stretching, forcing more preparation, more adjustment. Like the far-off rumbling of thunder Mark feels the words stretch up and out of Eduardo’s gullet again, picking up tempo with the slam of his hips. “Left the light on out there,” he pants. “Just a slice of it on us. Shows up every detail of your skin, Mark, _fuck_.” He shudders a little at that. “Out there, look – ” – and Mark looks, even as his head buzzes from the effort of concentration, he can’t _not_ ; the busy little office is a mausoleum his late on a Friday night, half-shrouded in dark – “all those people who work out there, looking into this room, little stupid brains _swimming_ with jealousy of how they’d just love to be you, in here. Be me. _Fuck_ you.” He slides one hand down, cups Mark’s cock almost leisurely, keeps using the other to support the steady rhythm of his thrusts. Mark stares blankly out at the empty desks, imagines them bustling with people, eyes and mouth agog as their CEO gets fucked against his office door. “Bet any of ‘em would join me in a heartbeat, bet you’d _let_ them, _fuck_ , down on your knees, _begging for it_ – ” Eduardo moans, guttural, inhuman in its viciousness. His fingers spasm on Mark’s hips.

Mark closes his eyes, lets his forehead sink against the coolness of the glass, winces at the slow squeak his sweaty skin produces. He’s fighting a losing battle, he knows, can feel the fire in his belly inching along every nerve cell, tingling in the roots of his scalp, under the skin of his chewed fingernails – but he’s damned if he’s not going to make Eduardo lose a little control, too. “Yeah,” he breathes, breath hitching on every other syllable. He lets his head fall back on Eduardo’s shoulder; he’s almost whispering in his ear. “Imagine. One of them... might even be hiding. Watching you. Right now.”

The noise Eduardo makes as he comes, so suddenly, is like a symphony. He smiles a small, self-satisfied smile; he wouldn’t be Mark Zuckerberg if he didn’t know how to punch Eduardo Saverin’s buttons. He doesn’t even care if Eduardo pulls out, walks away, and he’s left to jerk himself off in this dreary, darkened office with the carpet burning his knees – he’s won a little victory again. Not a big one, but he’s still unmistakably won.

Mark allows himself to look at Eduardo’s reflection for the first time, half-visible in the flickering light, and his face seems almost serene, content, eyes shut, his body slumped against him, his fingers idly playing with the corner of Mark’s hoodie. For a moment – for a heartbeat – it’s almost like he can see what they could have been, and it hits his heart like a suckerpunch.

Then his eyes snap open, black as pitch, and it’s gone.


End file.
